


Sex

by tiger_moran



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (Downey films), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Romance, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-13
Updated: 2012-10-13
Packaged: 2017-11-16 06:09:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/536341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiger_moran/pseuds/tiger_moran
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moriarty and Moran have sex. That's about it really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sex

Their kissing is heated; almost frenzied, on Moran’s side because he truly does lust after Moriarty; on Moriarty’s because controlling and manipulating his right hand man so does give him such a delicious thrill.  
  
It barely even breaks off as they strip each other, discarding clothing carelessly all around and resuming the frantic kisses moments after being obliged to pause to remove an undershirt or having to stoop to drag off boots or trousers.  
  
Finally though Moriarty breaks the kiss to twist Moran around, shoving him against the wall by placing a hand against Moran’s back; the other grasping his wrist.  
  
“Professor!” Moran cries, startled by the suddenness of this, splaying his hands against the wallpaper to steady himself.  
  
Moriarty is close behind him, breath warm against Moran’s neck. He does not need to look to know where to find the vial of oil on the nightstand beside the bed. Keeping one hand pressed to the small of Moran’s back, he leans across to catch hold of the small bottle.  
  
Moran clenches his fingers and he lets out a gasp when Moriarty slips an oiled finger inside him.  
  
“Not what you expected, my dear Moran?” Moriarty says into his ear, voice low and dangerous. His left hand moves to Moran’s hip, gripping firmly to hold him still while he eases in a second finger. “Do tell me if you wish me to stop.”  
  
Moran bites his lower lip. His eyes have slipped half shut. He should say stop; he shouldn’t have ended up like this, so eager – no, _desperate_ \- to have another man inside him. The colonel is a man used to getting his way in bed – never by force; not by coercion even, but he has a gift for seduction and he has always preferred to be the one in control with his previous partners. With the professor though… frequently he has fought for dominance over Moriarty in these situations; occasionally he has been given it; more often though he submits, and he finds himself eager to do so.  
  
Moriarty eases his fingers deeper within Moran and then curls them slightly. “ _Do_ you want me to stop?”  
  
Moran bows his head, pressing his forehead against the wallpaper and screwing his eyes tightly closed. “No sir,” he says and his breath hitches in his throat as the professor carefully strokes deep within him.  
  
“So what _do_ you want?” Moriarty enquires, withdrawing his fingers up to the first knuckle, then pressing them back within his companion, earning a hiss of breath from him.  
  
“You,” Moran breathes. “I want you.”  
  
“You shall have to be more specific, Sebastian.” Moriarty draws his fingers out entirely, though he maintains his bruising hold on Moran’s hip. “Tell me precisely what you want.”  
  
Moran twists his head to glare at the professor over his shoulder. “Fuck me,” he says. “I want you to fuck me.”  
  
“Language, Colonel.” Moriarty relinquishes his hold on Moran’s hip in order to slap him smartly across the buttocks. “Very well though.”  
  
Is that a faint sigh of relief that he hears from Moran as he slicks his own manhood with the oil? Perhaps he should make him wait a while longer after all, but then Moriarty is not in the mood for toying with him for too long tonight. Besides, Moran does look so delectable, standing there ready for him.  
  
He pushes his prick into the colonel with steady pressure, feeling him tense at the intrusion initially. When Moriarty pauses momentarily though to allow his partner to adjust to the sensation, Moran lets out the breath he had unwittingly held and his muscles relax, allowing the professor to press further within him.  
  
Moriarty grasps both of Moran’s hips now to hold him in place, his fingers digging in sharply to his skin; pressing against his sharp hipbones as he thrusts into him. As with most of their sexual acts no doubt this will end with Moran’s body marked with new bruises but this is as he desires it – just the right blend of tenderness and dominance.  
  
Moran is bent forward at the waist; his fingers are spread on the wall again and his breath comes out in panting gasps now. Clearly he isn’t going to last very long at all. “James,” he says as Moriarty continues driving into him, snapping his hips in a quick but steady rhythm. “Oh god, _James_.”  
  
Moriarty hears his breathing change; feels Moran tense around him, and when he shifts one hand to roughly pump the colonel’s length from root to tip Moran goes momentarily still, then he comes, three strong pulses of heat and wetness that partly splash up his own abdomen. Moriarty continues to stroke him through the lessening contractions of the orgasm until he feels Moran relax and slump forward, his legs buckling slightly.  
  
Moriarty shifts his arm now, sliding it up the colonel’s wiry, sweat-soaked body, wrapping it around his chest to pull him up; to draw Moran fully against his own body while he thrusts into him four more times before he too tenses. He bites the back of Moran’s neck hard when he comes, spending into the tight heat of his lover’s body.  
  
“Professor!” Moran grumbles, whether at the professor’s teeth nipping his neck or the sensation of him spilling into him is hard to tell, but either way it’s a half-hearted protest and as such it only earns a sly smile from Moriarty a few moments later.  
  
“My dear Moran.” His orgasm spent, he withdraws from his companion and turns him back around so that once again they stand face to face. He holds Moran’s hips again but more gently now. “As if you do not enjoy being used so.”  
  
Moran, panting slightly, although less than Moriarty, laughs and slips his arms around the professor’s neck, crossing his hands at the wrist behind Moriarty’s head. It’s an embrace, of sorts. His blue eyes, glittering with mischief now, are fixed on Moriarty’s as he leans in, demanding another kiss.  
  
Moriarty rolls his eyes faintly but accedes to the request anyway, though he reasserts himself after the initial meeting of their mouths by catching Moran’s lip between his teeth momentarily, biting gently so as not to break the skin but firmly enough to make it clear that he _could_ damage Moran if he so chose, before he slips his tongue into Moran’s mouth. They kiss for another half a minute or so before Moran twists his face away and grins.  
  
“Only because it’s you,” he says.


End file.
